


Tea and Sympathy

by Leni



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Post-Book
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 08:33:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19422325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leni/pseuds/Leni
Summary: "And who is this?"And why did the girl warrant an emergency call?





	Tea and Sympathy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for with_rainfall at [Comment Fic](https://comment-fic.livejournal.com/1019255.html)

Crowley vanished the flowerpot back into his apartment, dismissing its sigh of relief as its execution was delayed. "Hello, angel," he said, eyebrows trying to signal his question. When the angel just looked confused, he sighed and turned to words. "And who is this?"

And why did the girl warrant an emergency call?

He'd expected another incursion of a minor demon climbing the corporate ladder of hell through murder and mayham. 

This sedate tea party was not violent enough. 

If a human was too stubborn to take note of the warning signs around his shop, Aziraphale was an expert at rushing them off his doors. No need to interrupt Crowley's seasonal pruning. 

"Hello, Mr. Crowley," said the girl, probably the first being in decades to use that name without millennia of history attached to the syllables. Crowley did not approve. He'd worked hard for his reputation, you see. "I'm Pepper."

If she expected recognition, she was doomed to disappointment. 

Crowley felt a tiny flare of warmth. He didn't mind dooming people metaphorically. It reminded him of better, less complicated times. 

"Miss Moonchild here, you surely remember -"

"Not my name," cut in the girl, looking pained. 

Angels were quite good at finding a weakness and innocently poking at it. Made a demon less guilty for being fond of a celestial creature. 

"Er. Of course. My apologies. I mean, Miss Galadriel is the young lady-"

"Not that one either."

"Miss Pippin?" Aziraphale finally caught onto the young lady's mood. _Call me that one more time_ , it said, _and I'm tossing this scalding leaf juice on your lap_. Perhaps now Crowley would get the violence he'd expected. "Ah, well." Aziraphale tried that little innocent smile that had fooled humans since the Garden. The girl, helpless against heavenly wiles, relaxed and smiled back. "Miss Pepper is Adam's good friend, she's come from Tadfield for a visit."

A shiver ran down Crowley's spine. 

He plopped down onto a vacant chair, trusting human poor senses (and unending denial) to fudge over its sudden materialization. 

"Tadfield," he repeated, in the tone of one forced to speak of the lowest circle of hell. 

As the Antichrist's place of residence, it qualified. 

He quite liked Adam. The lad's occassional visits were an adventure and a half, as trouble followed the boy as faithfully as his tiny hellhound. 

The son of the Adversary had grown into a likeable bloke. It was easy to turn a blind eye on the whole of creation bending over backwards around him when Adam became so flustered by the fuss. 

His friends had been sporadic companions, and welcome since their presence assured a normal, baseline human weekend. 

Adam had been particularly wroth at the first idiot who threatened his friends. Banishment was a complication, and disbodiment was an unpleasant experience, but even Crowley felt queasy at the memory of complete obliteration. 

It had been the first time in eons he'd pitied an angel. 

"Yes, of course," he said, hoping he didn't look as terrified as he felt. One of Adam's childhood mates. Alone outside Adam's immediate reach. He turned the tea in his cup into scotch and downed it. The alcohol did nothing to his courage, but the burn in his throat bolstered his resolution to avoid any further burning. "What a surprise."

The girl lifted her shoulders. "I remembered Adam would always haul us in here. Thought I'd stop by for a visit."

Subconsciously seeking divine help. Smart girl. 

Not too smart, since she'd voluntarily left Adam's protection, but on their first meeting she was battling War with a twig. Being sheltered couldn't be in the cards for her for long.

"I see," said Crowley, seeing nothing. 

"I thought coming here would remind me why I'm still friends with Adam. Which makes absolutely no sense, since we've spent our lives at home, but there you go."

"You probably need a new perspective," Aziraphale said gently. 

Crowley scoffed into his empty cup. More than likely, the girl had caught onto the fact that Adam was more open when he had an angel and a demon to mop over any accidental spillage of his power. 

"I need him to stop being a prat," she retorted with feeling. "If he thinks I'll give in just because he's throwing a tantrum, he's..." She caught herself, looking almost apologetic at Aziraphale before she made an obvious adjustment to her vocabulary. "Well, he's wrong. That's what he is."

A prat. A lovely title to stand next to the Beast Below and Prince of the World. 

Crowley snickered nervously. 

The hordes of heaven and hell hadn't pushed Adam into fulfilling his destiny. He told himself that a simple spat wouldn't do the trick. 

A little more confidence wouldn't have gone amiss, though. 

"He's concerned." Aziraphale must have spotted Crowley's confusion, because he explained, "The two had words about Miss Pepper's plans for the future."

"Just because Brian and Wensleydale are sticking around, it doesn't follow that I'll stay home forever. There's a whole world outside, and I've always wanted to see it."

Being present at the Apocalypse had consequences - didn't matter whether the memories had survived it. The boys glued themselves to the power that had saved them. The witch did, too. Others wanted to see what they'd almost lost. 

Madame Tracy sent postcards. 

"Maybe he can join you?"

Pepper rolled her eyes. "As if he'd leave for that long. His parents practically had to drug him and pack him to college in the mail."

Crowley twitched at the memory. Even Aziraphale wore a tiny frown. A teenage Antichrist outside the calming influence of his home had been a headache and a half. 

"He is sulking, and it drives me crazy. He's my best friend." This was said without fanfare. Water flowed, fire burned, and Adam Young was both a human's lord (if such things still existed in human culture) and their best friend. "He's supposed to be happy when I'm happy. Not look disappointed, and fight me at every step."

An unexpected twinge of sympathy grew in Crowley's chest. 

He hadn't meant to Fall. He'd been surprised to discover His disappointment at his brief sojourn downwards.

If Pepper left Tadfield, as unaware of consequences, would she be allowed to return home?

"There, there," he found himself saying. His hand insisted on patting the girl's arm, as it had apparently caught human gestures and wanted the practice. Crowley poured her a new cup of tea instead to cover the aborted movement. "We'll figure something out."

The End  
30/06/19


End file.
